


Under The Skin

by Sangfroid_Sorrow



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, No significant age difference (no adult/child), Support, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21326092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangfroid_Sorrow/pseuds/Sangfroid_Sorrow
Summary: Childhood is a transient time. For Arthur Fleck, this is a radical understatement.Following the incarceration of his adopted-mother, the boy is passed around by extended family until his grandparents accept him into their home. Here, in a grand retirement house in Metropolis, young Arthur meets the holidaying Bruce Wayne— a kid rich enough to afford a second mansion. They strike up an unlikely friendship, but all is not as it seems.Although Arthur may seem ordinary, if not a little awkward, it's only because his scars are hidden under the skin.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Bruce Wayne, Batman/Joker (DCU), Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	Under The Skin

“Ten years old,” says Officer Whigham, sounding resigned. “That’s my guess.”

The paramedic turns to look at him. The man’s glance is renegade, clipping from Whigham to the scene behind him. It’s like watching a car crash before devouring the aftermath— a hypnotic sight, despite resulting nausea. He seems wary, but that’s hardly uncommon in Gotham these days.

“Ten?” he asks skeptically. “The kid looks about seven, officer. Eight, max.”

Whigham throws up his hands. “The fuck do I know? And besides— who gives a shit? This... this is unforgivable. Whatever age the boy is.”

They fall into silence— one heavier than the commotion around them. Police and medics flash by in psychedelic slow motion, blurs of blue and white and red, yelling like sirens in the distance. The weight of the situation suffocates the street where a lone ambulance lingers, surrounded by police vehicles.

“I was here already,” continues the officer, now staring intently at the entrance. “Only last week.”

“Yeah?”

He tastes ash, and turfs out the cigarette. “A little girl. Her father...”

“Shit,” the paramedic mutters, face contorting. Something beyond disgust breaks through in his eyes but his lip still curls, dispassionate. “Shit. Oh, shit. There.”

“Is it the bitch?”

It is.

She’s attractive, as bitches tend to be, but context spoils her appeal. Her jawline, harsh, seems animal-like and brutal as she bares her teeth to the cops restraining her. Delicate limbs spindle this way and that, attempting hostility, though all that comes of it is her own exhaustion. With fiery exasperation she manages to wrench one arm free. A further three policemen rush to subdue her and even Whigham jolts forward, but the woman packs no punches. Instead she reaches the liberated hand into her lovely blonde hair, twists a lock around her finger and decisively rips it from her scalp. She does this, all the while watching Whigham. Her pink lips smile, a crescent, lunar and otherworldly. It’s beautiful and haunting and mimics two others below her eyes— purple, irritated welts. One black-eye from her boyfriend and its companion by her own fist.

Whigham motions for his men to bring her over. He doesn’t notice the paramedic’s hands clenching and unclenching beside him, an inciting exercise rather than nervous habit. The man is quick to employ his ready fists, aiming a cuff at the woman’s side once she draws near.

“Dammit Parker!” he growls, catching the blow with his forearm. It’s pansy-like, what he would consider ‘queer’, and the medic retreats. “You’re supposed to be _professional_.”

Parker looks affronted. His gaze pebbles between Whigham and the woman now staring intently at him. The paramedic’s scant, hunched frame seems to balloon with alleged justice. “It’s Parkinson,” he retorts, then spitting at the mother. A glob of tobacco-sludge slaps her cheek. She spits back.

“That’s enough,” Whigham rumbles. He moves to physically wall them apart, pointedly ignoring how his own policemen jostle the woman, pressing her between their bruising grip, and instructs that she be ‘taken to the madhouse’. Parkinson remains agitated, glowering at the detainee as she’s packed into the armed vehicle. “That’s enough, Parkinson.”

The car withdraws into traffic, and Parkinson deflates. “She’s ruined that kid, Whigham.”

“I know.”

“Mothers like that— whores like that— they deserve _nothing_.”

“I know,” Whigham says again, indulgently. “But that’s not up for you to decide. Unless you’re willing to join her down in Arkham— but a woman like that won’t last long anyway. She’ll be eaten alive there, don’t you worry. Monsters get their just deserts in Gotham.”

Parkinson snorts as if there’s some kind of private joke, but nods. He motions to the stretcher assembled by his side. “Have they freed the kid yet?”

“Not yet,” the officer sighs. An image flashes through both men, rendering them cold. A boy— a babe, if anything— sharp-bodied and malnourished, bruised and disorientated, tied to a scalding radiator in a state seemingly catatonic. He’d smiled dumbly while they had attempted to cut the chains from his ankles (the sort sold for feral dogs; slicing at his Achilles heels; red with rust and blood), and maintained a mutely cheerful disposition. He reminded Whigham of his nephew; Parkinson, of himself. “Soon.”

“For that boy’s sake, I hope sooner.”

**Author's Note:**

> First story in what, two years? Yikes. I'm probably pretty rusty but 'Joker' just struck a chord with me, so, take this! 
> 
> [[*My works will never revolve around adult-child relationships. I do not condemn those stories, it's just not a topic I'm comfortable writing about.  
*I will also do my best to respectfully portray mental illness as someone who has struggled with it for around six years now. Any constructive criticism is still appreciated, of course.]]
> 
> Thanks for your time :)


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